"A hand for each hand was planned for the world Why don't my fingers reach? Millions of grains of sand in the world Why's mine a lonely beach? Where are the heels to click to my clack? Where is the voice to answer mine back? I'm all alone in the world"

Ibai: I've never had very many friends, you see. Well, I've had my family, of course. They’ve provided such fantastic companionship; I wouldn’t want to give the impression that they haven't. I love them very much. But yes, they are my family. It’s a different sort of relationship. I feel there is something uniquely special about becoming friends with someone who is in no way obligated to you already. It’s a bit purer, in an odd way. Hector: [thinking] Strangely, he knew exactly what Ibai was talking about. In his lonelier days, he'd often pondered the nature of companionship himself, and indeed, he'd reached a similar conclusion. There was something different about the approval of others, of strangers. It vindicated one’s existence, perhaps. That was what he’d come to believe, anyway.

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